


Circles Not Triangles

by GhostHost



Series: Tis the Season [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Mirage vs a secret santa exchange, Oneshot, Stand-alone, and finally, guess who wins, hound vs his refusal to choose, mirage and ravage vs gift ideas, ravage vs lasers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 09:26:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13051188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostHost/pseuds/GhostHost
Summary: As opposing master spies, Ravage and Mirage have danced around one another for most of the war.They've also danced around Hound, for entirely different reasons. Swerve's holiday madness just might turn that dance into something--finally--different.





	Circles Not Triangles

**Author's Note:**

> I was reminded that Holidaze was a fic and I went back to look at it and just, made a lot of unhappy noises/faces. So I pulled it, took the four main stories out, and made them their own sorta-related but mostly stand alone stories that just centered on the same event. Came out a lot better. This is the second fic in that series. 
> 
> I always wanted to write a fic where Ravage got a beast-wars ish upgrade and had both his cat and mech form after the war, and how that'd change things between the three of them. This isn't that fic but it's the thought that kinda sparked it a bit.

 

* * *

 

There were many things Rodimus insisted upon that were blatantly wrong, but the _ Lost Light  _ being a neutral ship was certainly one people entertained him with the most. They all nodded and agreed, claiming it was such even after the Great Optimus Prime installed a Co-Captain that no one wanted. (Never mind the fact the mech could flounce about tossing out orders that everyone blindly obeyed. No longer the Prime Ravage’s aft.) 

But sure.

Let’s all pretend it’s a _ neutral  _ ship.

Ravage knew better, just as he knew the _ Lost Light  _ was one of the largest ship’s in the Autobot army. It had miles of unused hallways, nevermind the entire ventilation system he prowled through. It was a miracle no one had tried to sabotage the ship (that is, besides its own Command staff, who had allowed not just a sparkeater aboard but Overlord himself and Primus knew what else.) because it was a spec ops dreamboat. A wonderland of poor security (RIP Red Alert, Ravage missed him none at all) small holes and more learned secrets than one mech should ever rightfully hold. (Who knew about the secret second lab in Hall 2B’s closet, Brainstorm? Ravage, that’s who.) 

And all of it, down to the last misplaced vent, was the misplaced cassettes. 

The cat made it routine to stalk through the vents and halls, the unused and overlooked spots. Partially out of habit, partially because he simply enjoyed doing it. He was a mech made of silence, and he reveled in it. Nevermind the fact that he was essentially the first line of defense if anything ever did go amiss up here. (Or below. Or anywhere, really. Trailbreaker tried, he really did, the poor thing, but _ trying  _ wasn’t  _ doing. _ ) 

He’d been doing things like this for centuries. Because of that, he’d developed more than a few habits to accompany his stalking. The most joyous of them was the ruination of glitch-mice.

He was coded as a cat, after all. No matter how much Soundwave scoffed at such ideas like “core coding.” His Carrier was fond of breaking every kind of tradition and expectation that limited other mechs who believed they could or could not do something purely because of  how they were sparked, but frag if Ravage didn’t get a savage bit of glee destroying those mice.

So, when a tell-tale glitter flashed out of the corner of one dark shaft, Ravage froze instantly. His claws released as his shoulders bunched and he began his slow crawl to destroy the creature who dared enter his domain. 

It was around a corner, the flashing reflecting off the metal wall of the vent that connected Ravages tunnel to the intersecting one. His internal map told him the vent around that corner overlooked Swerve’s, which was no doubt causing the mouse’s plating to flash to begin with. The idiot had installed a disco ball a while back. Ravage wouldn’t be surprised if he had it currently running. 

It did however, making this a touch more complicated, because it  gave the glitch-mouse a place to run. 

The thought made Ravage grin, his fangs baring to the air warming the ship.

This was going to be _ fun. _

Lunging around a blind corner with nothing but a flash to give an estimation of where the location of his prey was, was not an easy task, and that's what caused Ravage a good amount of glee. He liked a challenge. 

He inched forward slowly, giving no reason for the mouse to panic early, no indication he was in the vent with it. When he came nearly to the corner he acted fast, pouncing at an angle and letting his front paw lash out, claws extended, to catch and tear. 

His paw landed on nothing.

Another flash to his upper-left, and Ravage whipped his head about, teeth lashing out at the mouse. Again, he caught nothing-but this time he tracked the movement. Stupid mouse’s luck had run out, because the light in Swerve’s was bouncing perfectly off it and Ravage twisted himself once more in order to pounce. 

His paw slammed down with a mighty clang-Ravage belated thought he may have used more force than necessary but the drunks at the bar weren’t going to notice. Triumphantly, he slowly peeled his claws away to see... nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Ravage stared down at the empty spot, body twisted sidewise in the vent, processor whirling. Slowly his optics swept the floor, then up the sides of the walls and back. It was on his third, frustrated sweep, that a red light flicked to life on Ravage’s lifted paw. Spotting it immediately, the cat watched as it hovered for a minute, before flicked to the wall to his left, then to the floor. Keen optics tracked it as it slowly made it’s way to his right, then up and out of the vent. 

Ravage leaned forward, head turned to see out of the slats. It was one of the few vents that stood on the right wall of the shaft rather than the floor, with slates that were turned differently than a floor vent to allow maximum ventilation. 

It also allowed what looked to be a laser light system poke some festive, red and green lines through the gaps. 

Which made the glitch-mouse a laser, Ravage realized, with growing horror.  A red laser. 

That he had chased. 

Like an  _ earth cat.  _

“Ravage, buddy, you doing okay up there? Kinda looked like you were havin a seizure.” A concerned voice--Skids, of course-wafted up.  Ravage focused his optics to the bar below, to see said Autobot looking up at him. He was covered in green and red, the same colors as the lasers, but that didn’t matter. 

He had chased a laser and an Autobot had watched him do it.

Primus. _ Fuck. _

Ravage said nothing. Simply untwisted himself and inched his way onward, towards a bigger vent, then another, and so on until he was firmly curled under Megatron’s recharge slab,  eyes screwed shut. 

He remained there several hours later, when Megatron entered. He knew better to ignore his Lord in person, particularly when he’d already ignored a number of concerned pings from said Lord, but could only bring himself to answer one question the Captain asked.

“Are you alright?” Megatron’s voice was quiet. No hint of a annoyance, no underlying rumble of displeasure. No sign at all that anything was wrong. Which of course, was when he was at his most dangerous. 

Soundwave and Megatron had known each other for a long time. Long back to when Ravage was the Carriers only symbiont. They’d all been painfully young but Ravage especially so, and the three of them had created a partnership that Ravage had yet to see surpassed by anyone but the Prime’s own command staff. They were an odd family, even if they were one currently out of sorts, but most everyone who had come to know Megatron also came to know Soundwave, and Ravage through him.  Just as quickly learned the  fact that  _ you did not injure Ravage without serious and permanent consequences _ from both the larger mechs. 

Soundwave had other symbionts now, all much younger than Ravage, but he was the original youngling, trying to teach two mechs much larger than him how to navigate a world that was out to get all three of them. 

So he answered honestly, with a touch of field to show this was not something that needed energon shed over it.

“No.” He said. “No I’m not.”  _ ‘but I’m okay though and I need you to leave me alone.’  _

Megatron nodded, deciphering  Ravages field and taking it for for the truth. He reached down to rub an ear, a feeling of comfort for the both of them, before he honored Ravage’s unspoken request and left him alone.

Ravage knew he was going to have to explain later, but right now, he couldn’t even face himself.

He, one of the Decepticons elite soldiers and Soundwave’s first symbiont, had chased a laser like a mindless organic.

Christmas was awful,  Swerve would pay for his resurrection of the human holiday and the shame those lasers had brought down upon him, so Ravage swore.

 

xXx

“Heard you chased a laser.” Mirage said, the slightest hint of a smile on his face.

“Heard you got dragged into the Secret Santa exchange.” Ravage bit back, hiding the embarrassment that flooded his field of his longtime enemy, current rival, and sort of friend hearing of his failure. 

“At least they  _ asked  _ me to participate.” Mirage sniffed, playing offended. They both knew better. “That Swerve didn’t take my refusal is on him. I won’t be purchasing gifts for anyone.”

“Scrooge!” Called X from the bar.  He was ignored. 

“I’m sorry Ravage, I didn’t realize you were overlooked!” Nautica said, having overheard. “I’ll tell Swerve right away!”

“Please don’t.” He groaned.

“It’s because you’re a Decepticon right? That’s not fair, the holidays are about sharing and kindness!” Nautica continued, sounding not at all convinced that that was what it actually was about. “We can fix it!”

Ravage and Mirage exchanged a look at that--but Ravage shook his head and Mirage ultimately, dropped it. 

It was an exchange missed by most, but the few who hung out here had long ago learned to ignore the bantering Mirage and Ravage traded. 

Because they had been enemies, and spec ops, and because Mirage knew perfectly well the real reason Ravage hadn’t been asked to participate. 

Ravage was a beastformer, and a symbiont. No matter what the war had been fought over, he was still looked down upon by many, and considered nothing more than an advanced drone by most. 

He and Mirage might have had a history, but they also respected and understood each other. Mirage knew perfectly well how intelligent-and dangerous-Ravage was. He would never underestimate or downtalk the cat, in the same way Ravage would never mock Mirage’s spying abilities, or hint that they were the only reason he was successful.

They both had learned otherwise, through lessons given in blood. 

“So whose name did you pull?” Ravage asked, the second Nautica had ran off to determinedly right her perceived wrongs. 

“Hound’s.” Mirage sighed. 

An orbital ridge raised at that, Ravage’s ears twitching in consideration. “Did you now? Who pulled that little string?” 

“Perceptor, no doubt. He apparently is in charge of the Secret Santa, along with Brainstorm.” And Perceptor had served onboard a ship with Hound and Mirage before. 

Ravage grinned. Mirage and Hound had been dancing around each other for a great deal of time now, longer than most realized. Often mechs thought Hound too shy and Mirage too stuck up to even consider asking the other out, and had done everything from subtle hinting to outright encouragement to try and get them together. Ravage had personally been delighted when Jazz had not-so-accidentally locked them in a closet together back on earth.

That one had given Ravage, whose latest spy attempts had gone undetected, blackmail for days.  

Mostly because of how awkward the entire thing had been, but also because it’d forced the both of them to confront their situation. 

Not even the Prime’s spymaster himself had realized that the real issue didn’t lie with them not realizing their attraction to one another, but because they had a discussion long ago to hold off on a romantic relationship-for a variety of reasons.

One of said reasons being Ravage himself.

_ “I’m holding his attention from the opposite side of the war.” Ravage had taunted Mirage, long, long ago. “What does that say about your courting attempts?” _

It had been the last true insult he’d ever levered at Mirage--or rather, the last intending to inflict a deep, mental and emotional wound. Mostly because the noble had done his best to deactivate the cat right after he’d said it. 

Ravage’s tail still had phantom pains, at times. Odd considering Mirage had cut it off and Hook had been forced to rebuild it from scratch. Or maybe, not so odd at all.

“Will this break our truce if I chose to participate?”

“Not at all. He’d be upset if he received no gift after all. I do request I help you with the gift though.”

“Fine with me.” Mirage said. Keeping the peace with Ravage was worth the price of consulting with the cat. Hound refused to pick between the two of them, refused to even go near either when they fought, and his hesitation hid something-something neither spy knew. 

Or perhaps it was a hidden hope, but rather a persistence for an outcome he preferred, one Mirage and Ravage had slowly caught onto and were just now considering. 

It was a new thing though, unspoken but openly understood. A fragile line of thought. Fragile enough for Ravage and Mirage to treat it carefully. 

Mirage would need help anyway, not that he’d ever say that. 

 

xXx

They argued for days over gift ideas. 

Days.

“This is ridiculous.” Mirage snarled one evening, slamming a bottle of high grade down on his bar. “You are staying after closing tonight, and we are going to figure this out.” 

Ravage rolled his optics, but did as asked.

Between the pressure of the clock running out and the high grade taken from Mirage’s personal collection, they ended up figuring out a lot more than just gift ideas.

Then and there, two drunken master spies made a gentlemech’s agreement. One they owed Hound to try.

It was time things moved forward.    
  


xXx   
  


“Your present is in your room, Hound.” Mirage said, presenting himself in front of the green mech with a flourish. “However it is rather private. If you would follow me?”

Cat-calls and whistles followed them out, with Hound waving them off as Mirage all but dragged him from the bar.

“Shoulda known they’d pair us together.” He said with a bit of a laugh as they went. “You gonna give me a hint to this surprise?” And Mirage didn’t blame him at all for thinking this wasn’t actually personal, or romantic, or anything of the sort. 

They had a deal, after all.

Except the opposing parties in said deal had finally came to a conclusion, and hadn’t needed their mediator to help them with it. 

“Not at all, that would ruin it.” 

“Go on. Open the door.” 

Hound gave him a grin, knowing the spy’s flairs for things that were both entirely over the top and far too dramatic, and prepared himself to go with whatever happened. 

For all he knew, Mirage had gotten him a sex bot as a joke.

Spec ops, he had learned, had _ weird _ senses of humor. 

Instead as he opened the door he was treated to both a similar and rather different sight, to the prior line of thinking, because there  _ was  _ a bot sitting in the center of the room. 

Hound stopped, optics popped wide, and had to be nudged forward for Mirage to step in behind him and close the door.

With a large red ribbon tied about his neck, a somewhat embarrassed look upon his faceplates, Ravage sat. The bow was nearly bigger than his head, making the entire thing a touch more ridiculous--but purposeful, as both he and Mirage had intended.

“What…” Hound said, trailing off as he turned slowly to look from one spy to the other. “What’s going on?”

“I requested Ravage help me with your gift.” Mirage said, stalking around him. “We both agreed that is was time.”

“Time?”

“To give things a go. To give us all a go.”

There was no mistaking what he meant by that. 

His optics darted back to Ravage, intake working. “Soundwave agreed to this?”

“He did.” Ravage intoned. 

“And you’re _ both _ okay with this?”

“We are.”Mirage purred. 

“Okay. Um.” Hound rubbed one hand on his face, trying to process. “Wow.” 

“The metaphorical ball, is now in your court. You have both of us Hound. Together. Where you want us all to go from here is up to you.” Which it was. 

Whatever Hound wanted to do, whatever he wanted to try, they’d do. Hound had refused to choose, and Mirage and Ravage both had refused to back down or accept defeat by another. That left two options left, and no one was going to let go.

They knew it. They all knew it.

They’d all survived the war. The future was tentative, but it was there, suddenly visible. Tangible. Something that all mechs involved were willing to take a chance for. 

“Thank you.” Hound said, field finally moving from shocked to something more loving. He extended it, wrapping it around the two mechs before him. “Even if this doesn’t work out, even if this is just for tonight- _ -thank you.” _

The next morning, a deliriously happy Hound was awoken by a quiet argument taking place over his head. 

“You remember you were _ also _ supposed to wear a bow?” 

“I did. I simply took it off.”

“Fragger.”

“Sssh.” Hound said, in between the two mechs he loved. “I’m recharging.” 


End file.
